


at least in this lifetime, we're sticking together

by niick



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Hard of Hearing Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist With a Cane, Jonbinary, M/M, Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Polyamory, Sasha James Lives, Sick Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sickfic, Tim Stoker Lives (The Magnus Archives), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Martin Blackwood, no beta we die like Jonah Magnus deserves to, not mentioned but it's important to me :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28612635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niick/pseuds/niick
Summary: Jon shouldn’t have tried to go to work.Their head felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton, and their eyes would not stop watering. Their throat was thick and sticky and their voice was a croak that would butcher any statements they attempted but they couldn’t miss a day. They had a reputation to uphold, godsdamnit, and they were going to get their work done even if it killed them.But regardless, Jon shouldn’t have tried to go to work.-Jon tries to go to work sick, but their boyfriends are there to make sure they get the rest they deserve.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 115





	at least in this lifetime, we're sticking together

**Author's Note:**

> I live!!! I'm back and here to shove my headcanons down your throat, take them!! sorry about my blatant lack of writing over the past couple months, school has taken all my writing motivation. no thoughts, only jonmartim to cope.
> 
> title comes from [Me And My Husband by Mitski! ](https://open.spotify.com/track/5ErtQGRKEibK2WHaA729O8)because I am Yearning <3

* * *

Jon shouldn’t have tried to go to work.

Their head felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton, and their eyes would not stop watering. Their throat was thick and sticky and their voice was a croak that would butcher any statements they attempted but they _couldn’t miss a day._ They had a _reputation_ to uphold, godsdamnit, and they were going to get their work done even if it killed them.

But regardless, Jon shouldn’t have tried to go to work.

They stood too fast getting up from their seat on the tube, staggering as their head swirled and their vision faded at the edges. They caught themself on the wall and forced themself to walk, walk, walk, slowly making their way to the Institute. They were going to make it to the Institute. They were-

They took a step too quickly through the doorway of the archives and stumbled again, this time missing the wall entirely and landing hard on their knees in front of the stairs heading the rest of the way down.

They could… They could work with this. Catch their breath for a moment or two, regain their strength, that sort of thing. After all, they were _entirely_ capable of getting their work done. They attempted to stand after a beat but their bad knee gave out under them, sending them scrabbling for the handrail to avoid a tumble down the stairs.

Catching their breath led to a horrible, shaking cough, working its way painfully up through their throat and out their mouth. It took them a moment to even be able to breathe again and they found themself clutching at their knees as hard as they could, gasping with deep, raking breaths.

“Jon?”

They turned their head further downward at Martin’s voice, trying their best to hide their face in their hair.

“Jon, love, are you alright?” Martin persisted, and Jon felt warm hands begin to softly rub their back.

It was stupid. It was so stupid, and later they would blame it on the sickness, the fever, a particularly nasty built-up sneeze… but they were so _tired,_ and the tenderness of their boyfriend’s touch shocked them into untying the knot in their chest, just a little -

They realized they were shaking, and then noticed the hot tears streaming down their face.

“Oh, love-”

They tried to ignore the soft concern in Martin’s voice as they were pulled up and away from the wall, as gentle hands took their cheeks and tilted their head up. Martin pressed a hand to Jon’s forehead and pulled away just as fast, swearing softly under his breath - something that would have surprised Jon deeply had they not been distracted by the headache pulsing through their sinuses.

“You’re _burning up,_ Jon,” Martin said, helping them stand. “You can’t possibly… you couldn’t possibly have been planning to work like this? _Right?_ ”

That brought them back to their senses.

“Of… Of _course_ I was, Martin, I… I’ve got so much work to, to get done, and the… the statements, I need to record them, I-” Their voice caught in their throat, and they hacked out another long stream of coughs.

Martin looked down at them, unimpressed.

“You were saying?”

Jon frowned, rubbing at their throat, and was about to jump off on another rant when the door to the Institute clicked open.

Tim strode in, bright as anything, but the cheeky grin on his face froze as he caught sight of the two of them. In another instant he was at Jon’s side, already with his warm hand pressed into the small of Jon’s back.

“Whoah there, boss!” Tim chuckled nervously. His eyes darted up to meet Martin’s and down again as his forehead creased in worry. “You… alright there?”

Jon tried their best to send them both a dour frown, but the effect was abated somewhat by the puffiness in their eyes. They sniffled, trying to find the energy to protest against their boyfriends’ worry, but found nothing.

Tim seemed to feel Jon curl in on themself, and his face softened.

“Let’s get you home, okay babe?” He held up a hand to stop Jon’s weak protests. “Buh buh buh! I can’t hear you! We’re taking a day off and that’s final. The statements will be fine another day, come _onn!_ ”

He pressed a kiss into the top of Jon’s head, and that was the end of the argument.

“...Fine,” Jon muttered, barely getting it out over the scratchiness of their throat.

Tim clapped them on the shoulder before turning to Martin. “I’m going to go let Sasha know what’s up, meet you at the flat?”

“Can’t believe you actually got them to agree like that,” Martin chuckled as a reply, kissing Tim on the cheek. “Must be those Stoker charms in action.”

With that Tim shot them both a wink and headed down into the archives proper.

Martin settled his hand into the crook of Jon’s back, once again frowning worriedly at them. “Are you going to be alright getting home?” He asked quietly, rubbing a small circle into Jon’s back. “Need me to get your cane?”

Jon grumbled something unintelligible, wiping at their face with their jumper sleeve.

Martin laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he teased, easing Jon down onto the edge of the step. “I will be _right_ back. Don’t do anything reckless, okay?”

“Who do you take me for?” They managed to croak out, trying for a grin but landing on a grimace.

Martin smiled back at them as he headed down the stairs. “The type of idiot who nearly died in a fire protecting Timothy Stoker, that’s who.” He left Jon’s line of sight as he slipped into his office, leaving them to fade blearily in and out of consciousness on the stairs.

It seemed like they had only blinked before Martin was helping them back to their feet, pressing the comforting coolness of their cane into their hand.

“Come on, love,” Martin whispered, the words barely audible through the pounding in Jon’s head. “Let’s get you home.”

Jon wobbled but stayed mostly upright, and the ride home passed in flickering blips of consciousness.

* * *

They must have fallen asleep, because the next thing they knew they were waking up somewhere _warm soft warm warm_ to the sound of the front door opening and the jangling of keys. They blinked blearily, trying to right themself, but quickly stopped trying when their head throbbed in response.

The pillow under them shook with silent laughter, and when they succeeded in getting their eyes open a second time the blurry face of Martin was smiling fondly down at them.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Martin mumbled softly. “Tim’s just got home, by the sound of it. Can you let me up?”

Jon grumbled but complied, rolling over to press their face into the back cushion of the couch. It smelled like Martin.

Martin laughed again at their antics and slowly got to his feet, wincing when his knees popped. “I’ll be right back, love.”

Jon thought they might’ve given a verbal confirmation, but they might’ve also just said “Hrmmmemmgrh…” and fallen asleep again. This part was a bit bleary.

When they next woke up the cushion underneath them was a bit firmer, and warm hands were being run slowly though their hair. They leaned into Tim’s touch with a small smile, letting themself relax. They were safe. This was safe.

“They wake,” Tim whispered, laughing as Jon’s face contorted into a sleepy scowl. “Take it easy babe. I picked up some pain meds and tea while I was out, and some food if you think you can handle anything?”

Jon coughed and sat up, frowning at the scratchy feeling in their throat. They tried a few experimental sounds, but nothing came out. Defeated, they sat the rest of the way up, pulling their hands out from underneath the knit blanket someone - assumedly Martin - had placed over them.

_‘What food?’_ they signed, hands sloppy with both disuse and fatigue.

Tim grinned. “Classic canned soup, of course-” He held his hands up appeasingly at Jon’s scratchy grumbling. “Hey! Don’t give me that, Jon, it’s not like you’ll be able to taste it anyways.”

Jon glared at him but soon relented, leaning back to snuggle into Tim’s chest.

“Offly cuddly today, eh Jon?”

_‘...You’re warm,’_ they signed. ‘ _Fever chills.’_

Tim frowned at that, reaching up to press a hand to Jon’s forehead. He hissed in sympathy. “Yeowch, bubs. You’re burning up!” He kissed their forehead in the same spot his hand had pressed. “Want me to help you up to get some ibuprofen and food in you?”

Jon nodded their assent, gesturing to the cane leaning against the couch. Tim helped them come to their feet, keeping a firm hand on Jon’s arm to keep them from overbalancing. “Martin should have some tea going too, that sound good?”

Jon just nodded, the occupation of their hands preventing them from signing anything as they moved to the kitchen.

They could hear Martin humming softly as they got closer, and they entered the kitchen to the lovely sight of Martin in all his cozy domestic glory, ginger hair up in a loose bun and apron slung over his jumper.

They couldn’t help but smile sappily at that, not even having the energy to protest as Tim helped them into their chair.

Martin perked up at their entry, and as he placed a mug in front of Tim and Jon he paused to press a kiss onto the crown of Jon’s head.

“Feeling any better, love?” He asked softly.

_‘A bit,’_ they signed back. ‘ _Can’t talk, throat hurts.’_

Martin made a sad sound embarrassingly close to a coo, pushing Jon’s mug closer to them. “Some tea and soup should do you good, then.”

Tim settled down next to them, taking a careful sip from his mug. He sighed dreamily, giving Martin a thankful smile. “Perfect as always, babe. What would we do without you?”

Martin grinned, turning back around to take the soup off of the stovetop. “Probably still be in a coma, the both of you.”

Tim gasped in mock offence, putting a dramatic hand to his chest. “I’m _sorry_ ,” he said, no heat behind the words. “ _Who_ pulled your twunk ass out of the Lonely?”

Jon laughed at that, the sound managing to make its way out of their burning throat. Both men gave them equally fond looks in response.

“Alright,” Martin said, placing a bowl of chicken noodle in front of Jon. “No complaining, you hear?”

Jon didn't meet his eyes, grumbling under their breath. Martin clicked his tongue at that, putting his hands on their shoulders to meet their eyes. “You’re _going_ to eat, Mx. Probably Didn’t Have Breakfast This Morning.”

Jon snorted. ‘ _Okay, okay. I’m eating,’_ they signed, picking up their spoon in a comically dramatic gesture. The soup was, admittedly, just what their throat needed, and they slurped it down faster than they would care to admit. They didn’t miss the way Tim gave Martin a knowing look.

Soon they were back on the couch, a warm mug in their hands and equally warm boyfriends on either side of them in what Tim lovingly called a Jon Sandwich. Tim had already started snoring, his face pressing a wet puddle into Jon’s shoulder. Martin was working on knitting what appeared to be a shawl and humming quietly to himself.

Jon was suddenly struck by how _domestic_ it all was, and they couldn’t help the warm feeling blooming in their chest.

Jon turned and gently maneuvered Tim so that his head was in their lap, taking out his hearing aids and carefully setting them on the coffee table for when the man eventually woke up. Martin reached over to absentmindedly run a hand through Tim’s hair.

Jon set their tea down on the table, tapping Martin’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Yes, love?” Martin asked, glancing up from his knitting to smile at them.

_‘I love you,’_ Jon signed. ‘ _I love you so much.’_

Martin squeaked, his face going red. “I- ah, yeah! Thanks!” He covered his face with his hands in embarrassment, and when he removed them he was smiling fondly. “Yeah. I, I love you too, Jon. So much.”

He took their hands in his, careful to avoid waking Tim. “I hope you realize that… I am, we _both_ are, taking care of you because we… because we _want_ to, love. Not because we have to. Because we care about you, yeah?”

It was Jon’s turn to go red, a smile making its way across their face. They coughed once, experimentally, and then, confidence growing, squeezed Martin’s hands. “Thank you,” they whispered, the words scratchy but present.

They felt movement in their lap and looked down to see Tim smiling up at them, already reaching up one of his hands to join their impromptu hand pile. ‘ _I love you both too,’_ he signed, groggy with sleep, ‘ _but can we please go to bed?’_

Martin laughed, effectively breaking the mood. “Yeah, of course. I think we all need some rest, yeah Jon?”

Jon nodded, beaming at the both of them.

_This is home,_ they thought, watching the smiling faces of their boyfriends. _This is my family._

They let themself be helped to their feet, warm and content for the first time in a while.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> thank you all for reading! If you haven't yet maybe... check out my other fics? perhaps? sorry for the shameless plug I am so very tired
> 
> catch me on instagram at [@niick.draws ](https://www.instagram.com/niick.draws/)


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